


Sugar-Free

by Anonymous



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Choi Beomgyu-Centric, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fainting, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, No Dialogue, Panic Attacks, Sad Choi Beomgyu, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dreaming about the idol lifestyle is different from experiencing it firsthand. Beomgyu finds out—the hard way—that success isn’t as tasty as he had hoped for.
Kudos: 24
Collections: Anonymous





	Sugar-Free

**Author's Note:**

> sad fic is sad

Beomgyu can tell that his body is gearing up for some sort of hungry fit even before it shows him any signs of struggle.

He’s forced back into consciousness from his zoning out session with a scowl, eyes searching for precious, needed minutes. Beomgyu tastes bile on his tongue and he’s got to go.

They have almost an hour until the performance, but he only needs about fifteen minutes to get himself together. It’s plenty of free time, still, and he breathes easier at the wiggle room in-between their stages. This is so far pretty manageable.

He stands up, cold body feeling numb as his ears ring. Before collapsing in front of twelve people (his groupmates not included) he shuffles his way to one of the managers for today’s schedule. He clears his throat, fingertips tingling. The man— who had been too busy making passes at one of the coordi noona to notice Beomgyu’s body swaying—turns to him.

(The woman fixing Soobin’s wardrobe mishap smiles warmly at him, gratitude written on her face. He truly hopes he’s smiling back at her.)

Beomgyu is almost sure he’s giving the information needed to keep the older male from going berserk at his absence, fighting the urge to just up and leave. He’s tired and hungry as well as feeling sick, but he isn’t that person.

The man scolds him because he’s in charge. And because he’s embarrassed. Beomgyu just nods with a blank face, head feeling too heavy and too full. He can only leave after promising not to cause a ruckus while out there.

Inside himself is fair game, though.

The corridor is packed with people, from overworked staff to overworked celebrities. Beomgyu makes sure to keep bowing to everyone he crosses paths with, his sight swimming a little at the jerky, continuous movements. He is patted on his back and given words of encouragement by blurred faces, smiling blindly at them as he rushes through the masses. He watches his steps as best as he can, tripping now would do him no good. 

Beomgyu is on his way to the bathroom closest to the stairways, as it is often devoid of people for being on the closed wing of the building. It’s solitude he embraces, the peace allowing him to put himself together enough to last the next hours.

His outfit is beautiful and expensive, but as soon as Beomgyu enters the vacant stall, he wants to rip it off. He feels stuffy, body going from overwhelmingly hot to overwhelmingly cold in less than a heartbeat. All he does is sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

Beomgyu clenches his fists to bring some warm blood to his freezing fingers. His breathing picks up. Something is thundering inside his chest.

The lighting isn’t as shitty now that he can see how pale he’s become, the tendons and ligaments on his hands jutting out with the shade from overhead. It’s harsh against his skin, too white and too merciless.

He counts his heartbeats, focuses on his dry cuticles. He’s feeling lightheaded. Beomgyu closes his eyes. His stomach growls at him quite angrily, and the image of his jaw getting buried under fat marks the back of his eyelids.

How can his body be mad at him for skipping meals when he’s mad at it for demanding meals in the first place? It’s beyond Beomgyu’s understanding. Everything is so unfair.

He pinches his knee, the one that’s shaking. Swallows down the bitterness that is building upon his tongue. Licks his dry—but carefully drawn-on—lips.

It’s quite hard to gauge how long Beomgyu has been cooped up in the bathroom. He’s gone through a few rounds of breathing exercises, but when he’s this inside his own head, he can’t tell when is when.

The lights flicker the moment he steps out of the stall, walking toward the row of sinks. A few moments go by until he’s able to recognize himself in the mirror. Someone should do something about his notorious eyebags, Beomgyu doesn’t want to embarrass his fans any further than he always has.

He doesn’t cry, mostly because he can’t afford to mess up the makeup some kind woman spent minutes of her life meticulously applying to his face. He doesn’t cry as his ribcage holds all his sadness in a tight hug.

Insecurity glazes over his pupils without his consent, anyway. His breathing is rushed, erratic, but he can only think about his soft cheeks. He bites the inside of his cheek instead of screaming.

Wobbly legs become ever wobblier, and Beomgyu grabs at the sink to keep himself standing, as unsteady as he may be. He wants to puke everything he hasn’t eaten. His head hurts.

The door jerks open and he can barely smile at the staff that comes in, shock written across the man’s face. Can barely register what he yells, his loud voice probably aimed at Beomgyu for taking too long in here. For being too fat. Beomgyu is attempting a friendly wave when his entire world shifts to the right.

It gets dark and a little lonely suddenly. It’s cold, but he doesn’t hate it.

At least Beomgyu isn’t hungry anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and i'm sorry lmao


End file.
